


Nice Doggy

by Entropy House (AnonEhouse)



Category: Drake's Venture
Genre: Alternate Universe - Aliens, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Avianoid, Centaurs, Gen, Not Human
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-10
Updated: 2012-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-16 01:32:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/Entropy%20House
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alien avianform Thomas is a reluctant diplomat to a world populated by savage centauroids, including Redbeard (Francis Drake avatar). Even more reluctantly, Thomas undertakes a journey with Redbeard's tribe in search of golden treasure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nice Doggy

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2010 DV 'First Lines' Ficathon, where the prompt was the first line in your fic.
> 
> Shimere 277's provided: Oberon was the worst assignment Thomas had ever had; sometimes he thought he would do anything to get off of this god-forsaken world.

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

Oberon was the worst assignment Thomas had ever had; sometimes he thought he would do anything to get off of this god-forsaken world. He was accustomed to being treated as a diplomat. There were certain minimal standards to be upheld.

None of which the centauroids of Oberon recognized. He'd been kidnapped his first day on the planet simply because an outlying chieftain was curious to see an avianform. He'd been poked and prodded, made to do _tricks_ , tricks for God's sake, like an animal, before they became bored and released him.

And would they even give him a ride back to the embassy? No, of course not. He'd flown the whole weary way, dodging nasty predatory birds and the occasional arrow sent by backwoods centauroids who hadn't heard that they weren't the supreme beings in their private universe any longer.

The embassy staff wasn't much help, either. The climate had put half of them into molt, so they were hiding in their quarters, while the other three (yes, three) had all they could do to handle dispatches from home, translate proposals, and arrange for delivery of essential supplies from the locals.

So Thomas was landed with all the face-to-face meetings with these huge, shaggy, ill-tempered, smelly brutes. He kept reminding himself that diplomacy was the art of saying 'nice doggy' until one could find a stick. He'd give a lot for a stick strong enough to beat sense into the centauroids. His people needed the cooperation of the 'civilized' tribes to gather a certain herb found only in the territory occupied by the most savage tribes. He'd been told the herb was the sole source of a miracle drug supposed to cure everything from feather fade to halitosis. He doubted that greatly, but then, he wasn't a scientist, just a fellow chosen for his good manners and innate breeding—which were an absolute detriment on this planet. The ability to belch at will would have served him better.

Oh, lord, here came his personal nemesis again. By centauroid standards this fellow was short, but he was stocky and aggressive enough to fight his way to the leadership of a particularly nomadic and insanely courageous tribe. They were just the idiots he needed, if only he could convince them it would be worth their while.

Thomas smiled and spread his wings in welcome, watching without flinching as Redbeard and his lieutenants demolished the feast set out before the embassy lawn on long tables. No need to offer cutlery, each of them carried long, sharp knives, along with swords, bows, and assorted instruments of mayhem. When the gnawing had settled down somewhat, Thomas again began trying to explain what his people wanted, and what they would gladly give in exchange. 

Redbeard pulled a bit of gristle from his mouth, examined it to make certain it wasn't worth eating, and tossed it to the ground. "You want us to go south a long way for this goldleaf plant. No one has ever gone that far. Could be we get eaten by cannibals. Could be we die of swamp fever. Could be we starve. And maybe no goldleaf plants, so we come back and you not pay us anything." Redbeard reached for a tankard of wine.

"I am authorized to advance partial payment. One quarter now. And at least a quarter more when you return, provided you take this with you." Thomas held out a modified GPS on a necklace sturdy enough and gaudy enough to appeal to Redbeard's ilk. "This will tell us that you have gone where we ask, even if you cannot bring back any goldleaf. If you bring back a bodyweight of goldleaf, you'll receive full pay. If you bring back more, we'll pay the same again for each bodyweight."

Redbeard finished his wine, thumped the empty tankard on the table and scratched his furred chest. "You come with."

"Me? But, captain general, I..."

Redbeard's blue eyes glittered. "You come with, or we no go. No one will go. Seer has said so."

Thomas knew an ultimatum when he heard one. These 'seers' were either psychic or very shrewd psychologists—or both. It had taken a great deal of flattery and bribery before they had allowed any tribesmen even to approach the embassy. He could refuse, pack his bags and go home—and never, ever be allowed a posting off homeworld- or he could risk his neck and possibly return home a hero with his pick of prime postings after he'd had a good long rest.

Thomas smiled brightly. "What a wonderful idea. I'll just pack my feather brush." He lifted his own tankard and drank.

Redbeard grunted, and then, unnervingly, smiled. "You bring books so not be bored by dirty horsemen?"

Thomas's ruff fluffed protectively about his neck. It was almost as if the savage read his mind. "I could never be bored in your company, captain general." The good-natured buffet he received in return made him flap to retain his seat.

"No books, good. Listen to captain general, obey orders, not have to ..." Redbeard drew a thick finger across his own throat. "Pretty birdman understand?"

"I have no intention of attempting to undermine your authority, no, none at all." Thomas was actually glad of the warning, as he had been toying with the idea of attempting to befriend the underlings.

Redbeard laughed. "Sun up. We go, then."

/**\\-,-/**\

Thomas flew the first few days, but soon the jungle grew too thick for him to see Redbeard and his horsemen, so he was forced to the ground. He wasn't built for extended bipedal travel and found himself falling behind. "Slow down!" he finally shouted before leaning against a tree, panting, when the last of the centauroids was still barely in sight. "I can't keep up."

The horsemen shouted and stopped slashing at the jungle. In a few minutes Redbeard returned to glower down at Thomas. "Eh? Pretty birdman gives orders to my horsemen? Want make me angry?"

"No, no. It's just..." Thomas shook his head and pulled off one boot to show his blistered and bleeding foot. "Captain general, leave me. I'll return to the embassy."

"And break word? Tell enemies where I go? Other tribe kill us and then trade with you? That what you want?" Redbeard's knife came out. "I cut you head off. Bring head with, same thing to seer, maybe."

Thomas was too miserable to flinch. "I hope the knife is sharp."

Redbeard put away his knife. "Birdman not chicken." He laughed at his own joke. "Get on my back. But keep mouth shut. You cargo, not driver."

One of the centauroids picked Thomas up and tossed him on Redbeard's back. Thomas clutched handfuls of shaggy russet fur and settled his wings nervously in place, his ruff shivering and bristling until he learned the rhythm of Redbeard's stride. After a while, it even became pleasant. "I hope I'm not inconveniencing you."

Redbeard grunted on the backswing of hacking down a fruiting vine. "You not heavy. Should eat more. Have fruit!" He tossed a length of vine over his back. "You not eat good meat, I know." 

Thomas was hungry, and the concentrated rations he'd brought were very dull. And he really didn't dare offend the captain general. He smelled the fruit and tentatively tasted the juice, before noticing that Redbeard had twisted his torso so he could watch. Oh, well, they hadn't found anything poisonous to their species yet. He bit into the warm, mildly sour fruit, and ate until Redbeard grunted again, and turned his attention to the path he was cutting. 

Redbeard appeared fascinated by him, alternating between what he could swear were jealous rages and coarse attempts at flirting. The centauroid was a very mercurial fellow and Thomas knew he was flying between power wires in his dealings with him. He really, really hoped Redbeard wasn't thinking of having sex with him. Now, if the fellow were reasonable, and able to control his impulses, something might be worked out, pleasurable for both, but his imagination wasn't up to the task of visualizing a reasonable, controllable Redbeard. Might as well order the sun to moderate its output. And Thomas's bones were very fragile.

After they'd been trekking for over a month, and by the GPS's reckoning, were nearly to the area where the goldleaf grew, it became apparent that Redbeard had bullied his reluctant tribe into the journey in the first place. It seemed he'd lied to them about various details and now they were tired, sick, and hungry because their plains hunting methods were useless in the jungle.

Thomas didn't like the way they looked at him when they mentioned food. He liked even less the way Redbeard grabbed him by an arm and flung him to the ground. "Bind me this traitor! His black arts enspelled me!" He tore off the GPS necklace and stomped it into the dirt.

"What?" Thomas considered for an instant trying to argue his way out of this. Then common sense took over and he flew into the nearest tree and began climbing. "I'm sure when you think it over, Captain General, you'll realize..." He reached the top of the tree, and saw movement, coming towards them.

Redbeard and his horsemen were still shouting when Thomas took flight. Curious, he flew over the line of dark things, seen in patches through thin foliage. His eyesight was hawk keen. They were smaller than Redbeard's folk, and furred in mottled black and gray, instead of shades of brown, but were definitely centauroids. And all armed with what appeared to be blowguns. A massacre was not going to do his diplomatic career any good at all. He hoped their blowguns weren't long range weapons.

"Hello!" he shouted in the trade tongue that was supposed to be universally known on this continent. "Can't we all be friends?"

The small centauroids made a great deal of noise, before they looked up and saw him. He waved. "Please don't kill the others." He was astonished to see them fling themselves down in an odd sort of crouching bow. Then they began chanting something about flying gods.

/**\\-,-/**\

"Well, you never know your luck, do you?" Thomas said later that night as he sat in front of the pygmy chieftain's hut, draped in goldleaf flower wreaths while Redbeard's crew shared a feast and everyone except him got very drunk on something he hadn't really thought you could ferment—or would want to.

Redbeard wobbled over to him, four legs stumbling a bit, but still holding him upright. He grinned at Thomas. "Seer was right. You are my luck."

"Yes, it all worked out well, didn't it?" Thomas smiled. "We'll just load up on goldleaf, you'll get your reward, and I'll get to go home."

Redbeard frowned. "You go other worlds." He belched, and the pygmy chief smiled at this evidence of good manners. Redbeard tried again. "I see. Thing that flies, goes into night sky."

"Yes, that's how we do it, all right." Thomas nibbled on a goldleaf bloom and felt very, very good. "Allll right." He beamed at Redbeard.

"I go into night sky."

"Hmm?" Thomas had another flower. Everything was beautiful. Even Redbeard. "Sure, why not."

Redbeard's fangs glinted. "You people no good fighters."

"No, not really. Talk is what we're best at." Thomas dipped a flower in honey and ate it. "Oh, that's nice." His wings flapped idly.

"So, what happen when others want what you have on things that fly?"

Thomas shrugged. "Well, yes, sometimes there are pirates, but they have to catch us first." He laid his finger alongside his nose and hiccupped. "Our ships are fast."

"Give me ship! I fight pirates in night sky! Seer says so!"

Thomas looked at Redbeard. "Um. What?"

Redbeard loomed close, grinning. "Thom as. We go forrrard."

Thomas blinked. He was still feeling ridiculously happy. He patted Redbeard's fur. "All right." He giggled. "I'm a dipplemat. C'n make you privateer. I think." He hiccupped again and passed out, so he missed the ceremony where the pygmy chieftain gave Redbeard a long, involved name, and a blowgun made from solid gold.


End file.
